The Knocking
by classical-death
Summary: an insane woman can't get rid of her husband. a serious plot twist at the end.


The Knocking

The knocking, oh, the knocking. He just keeps going. It never ends. My body aches, my hands tremble, I can't hold my cup. My heart beat follows the rap of His knuckles against the wood. I WANT HIM TO STOP. But I need Him. It. I walk to the sound. The balls of my feet hitting as He does. I can't escape it. Him. I want to remove His fist, but I know I would be removing my own life with it. How long am I supposed to stand this? I turn my head to the wall. It vibrates. The dust in between the cracks has long since fallen out and gathered in little piles on the floor. I kneel down and touch one of them. My finger makes an indent. I push my finger further in, all the way to the floor. I can almost see the tinny grains cascade over each other and spread over the floor. I remove my finger and gently blow the dust off of it. It all falls back into place on the manipulated pile. Ever so nicely it partially fills the hole. My hole. I can't keep the glee out of my mind. It is doing what I want. So, I still have some control. He will die before me! I will stop giving Him His food! He will weaken, and He will die! I will win! I raise my fist. There are many things I can do with it. So many. I can go into His room and hit Him. Hurt Him. He is frail, it would be easy. So simple. The simplicity gets me. I'm rocking back and forth on my feet. So simple. Everything is simple. The beat makes it. No! I will not go to his room. It's what He wants. He's trying to control me. NO ONE CAN CONTROL ME! I have forgotten the things I could do with my fist. I could make my own beat. No! My beat would just end up coinciding with His. I cough. The dust. It's swirling around me. How? My fist. I smile. It's found its own way. I can't really feel the throbbing. That's OK. My little pile is gone. But now it's with me, traveling down to my lungs. They are my real friends. I don't want to breath out, in case they leave. The beat. THE BEAT! It's become irregular. When? Had I missed it? The change. No! It's faster. It should be going SLOWER! He should be DYING! What's going on? Am I hyperventilating? Are my friends leaving me? I'm light headed. Doesn't that mean there's to much oxygen in my brain? Oh! I'd been BREATHING to it! How had He known? The wall. New is dust falling. They're crushing my friends! No! I brush my friends away but it's too late. The new dust is black. They're larger. My fingers are too unsteady to pick them out. My nails are bitten down anyways. No! I glare I the wall. It gave me my friends and has taken them away. The wall has to go. I will tear it down. What about Him? He is weak enough to not be a problem. When the wall is gone I will move Him. To a bigger room. Where He can't reach any walls. Yes! I stand up. The wall will go. It will suffer. It's boards are weak too, without the dust to hold it together. Oh, my dear friends, I am doing this just for you. There is no time to find tools. That would be cheating anyways. My fingers will do everything. I direct them but they do all the work. I find the biggest crevice. It's a tight fit but I'll manage. The wall won't though. Ha! Your rule is over! I peal it back. Oh, how easily you are torn down! It snaps. The hard part is done. I pry the nails out with the board still connected to them. Such a satisfying squeal the nail makes as it's removed! The wall is crying! Telling me it's sorry. I WILL NOT forgive it. Too long has it tortured me. It's only getting what it deserves. IT COULDN'T STAND FOREVER! More bits of wall piling up behind me. It's all gone. Almost. The other side. The other section of the wall. I kick it! OH GOD! A nail! My bare foot bleeds. Ha! I will not be defeated that quickly! No. Now is the time for tools. 'There is a time and a place for everything'. Who said that? I doesn't matter. But what is there? The kitchen is filthy. So many plates. It needs to be cleaned. NOT NOW! A knife. No. There are no knives strong enough for this. WHAT THEN? Ah. The letter opener. So simple. So small, almost insignificant. But it is perfect. It fits between the boards nicely. It is flat and plain. There is a spider on my hand. The wall may be your ally, but I am stronger. I bend the letter opener. It is my friend. The boards bend, crack! Freedom! I remove all of them. What? The room smells. Now I remember Him. He is lying there. Right at my feet. His fist raised, ready for another rap. He will never get it. The wall is gone. Yet He waits! Waits for another wall! I will not give it to Him. I pull him out of the stinking room. The smell follows. Death. Another room. It is bare, big. He would have to crawl to reach any of the walls. I place his stiff, wrinkly body in the center. Fist raised. Ha! He is pitiful. But he deserves it! I leave him. I lock the door. My cup waits for me. My hands are steady and I can drink without spilling. Ah. Peace. I don't notice it at first. The ceiling. My ceiling. His floor. No.


End file.
